The Life and Times of Martin Seamus McFly
by JediKnightCaraD
Summary: We all know the Marty from the movie, but what was he like before? What events took place to shape him into the young man who would travel back in time? What was his family life like? What kind of friends did he have? How and where did he take of skateboarding and guitar? And how did he meet Doc? Prequel to the films; ignores video game and animated series canon.
1. Marty

**Wednesday, June 12, 1968. 9:58 PM.**  
**Hill Valley Community Hospital, Maternity Wing.**

_Clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp..._worn black Oxfords trod about the room in an oval, bypassing the thin stack of magazines and the lines of hard chairs butted up against all four walls. Every chair was empty. The room itself was dead silent but for the ticking of a plain white wall clock and the incessant clomp of the shoes of the single father-to-be.

He had paced in the same unending circle for nearly five hours, sated only by the occasional sip of water from the cooler in the corner. Every inch of the man fit perfectly into the 'nervous new father' stereotype. From his mussed, oily hair, to the starched white shirt half-untucked, to the ragged ends of his fingernails chewed down to the base, thirty year old George Douglas McFly was a perfect bundle of nerves. No one could have guessed he'd gone through this routine twice before.

George had never expected to go from nerdy high-schooler to the husband of one of the prettiest girls in school. Often he wondered why Lorraine Baines had ever picked _him_, of all people to settle down with. Often times he actually found himself thankful for his near-death experience at the hands of her father. Had he not been hit, he probably would have grown into a recluse writing sci-fi in his parents' basement. Now, here he was, a father of two with the third well on his way...or her way.

George's attitude toward children had always been ambiguous. Lorraine had wanted them, of course, and George was never one to argue the point. So, the children came.

David came first in 1963. George had been even worse at his birth, and wasn't much better after the baby came home. He was too frightened to even hold his son for the first six months, let alone do anything else with him except play on the floor with the little boy. Thankfully David proved to be a very happy-go-lucky little guy and seemed to think his fathers' clumsy attempts to dress or feed him were something to giggle at. Given this, George had not objected the news of a second child.

It was a girl next, Linda, in 1965. She was the polar opposite of her brother and had a tendency to cry at every little thing. There was a brief period of relief once she had learned to crawl, but then she had hit the 'Terrible Twos'. Anything could set her off, and George found himself staying later and later at his musty little office just to get home after Linda had gone to bed. He felt bad for Lorraine and knew his wife was aggravated, but he honestly didn't know what else to do.

The news of a third child had thrown George into a state of shock. He and Lorraine had not been trying for a third and in fact had discussed stopping at two...actually, Lorraine had brought it up and George meekly listened. Every time the conversation had ended with Lorraine throwing her hands into the air in despair and leaving.

Over the past nine months George had grown resigned and even somewhat happy about the event. His hope was that it would be another boy. Boys, to his way of thinking, were far easier to handle than girls. Another docile baby boy might boost his confidence again. Thankfully both David and Linda were staying with their maternal grandparents and so would not have to be worried about until later.

Presently George stopped pacing to regard the clock again. 10:00 PM. He sighed and shook his head. He wondering how much longer it would be. Lorraine had had David in ten hours and Linda in only eight hours...if it followed the pattern, the next child should arrive in six hours...and it had already been seven and a half hours since she had first reported contractions. He worried that there might be something wrong, that Lorraine might be having trouble, that there was something wrong with the baby. "God, let them be OK," he whispered under his breath. He had been raised more or less Catholic but didn't often pray unless he was under a lot of stress. This certainly qualified.

The soft footsteps of a white-garbed nurse went unnoticed until she stood in the doorway. George didn't even know she was there until she spoke. "Mr. McFly?"

"Wha-?" George jumped about a foot in the air and spun around, startled.

The nurse stepped backwards and blinked in surprise. "Ah...I just wanted to give you an update on your wife." She spoke cautiously, as if unsure how to deal with this frightened man.

George's eyes widened and he took a large step forward. "Who? Oh! Lorraine! Yes! Is she all right? Is anything wrong? How's the...uh...the baby?"

The nurse sighed looking as if her patience was nearly gone. "Mrs. McFly is fine. She just had the baby."

"Oh!" George checked his watch. "Uh...that's...that's good. How is he...she...erm...it...?"

"It's a boy, sir."

"Oh!" George's expression loosened and let out a little sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God," he muttered under his breath. "Then how is he?"

"He's fine." The nurse rolled her eyes in exasperation at this impossible man. "Do you want to see him?"

George's nerves came back and he stiffened. "Uh...yeah...sure."

The nurse nodded. "Follow me."

The nursery was fairly small, but had a line of windows in the side for friends and family to see their newcomers. George was unconsciously tucking in his shirt and combing his hair. He was always nervous when meeting new people, and his infant son was no exception. The nagging worry that the baby might not like him kept returning. To his annoyance the nurse left him at the window without pointing out which squirming, swaddled baby was his. It took him some time to regain his senses and search for the 'McFly' nametag on the bassinet.

There it was. George pressed his nose against the glass to get a closer look.

Little Baby McFly had just been put in his bassinet and lay squirming about and squinting at the new world, as if unsure what to make of it. Under the blankets it was hard to tell what he looked like.

George's enthusiasm rose upon seeing how quiet the baby looked and tapped on the glass to get the attention of the nurse within. While he flinched a little upon seeing her stern face, he was determined to see his son close up. He pointed out the infant and mouthed his last name. The nurse understood and lifted the baby up, bringing him to the glass.

The baby, while clearly agitated at being taken out of his crib, settled down quickly and seemed to turn his little head toward the window. He had bright blue eyes and fine, dark hair. If his eyes did not change he would be the first McFly to have blue eyes. He stared intently at his father for a long while before letting out a yawn. At that, the nurse whisked the baby away and set him back in his crib with a warm blanket. The groggy baby yawned.

A crooked smile worked its way across George's harried features_. Oh, good. Another easy one._ He let out another sigh of relief, shyly waved to the baby, then turned about to look for another nurse to find out when he could see his wife.

Lorraine was half-asleep herself when George saw her next, as she had been knocked out during the delivery. She asked questions about the baby almost nonstop until she was satisfied that he was all right, and reluctantly settled in to wait for the baby to be brought back to her for feeding.

"You know, George, we never discussed a name," said Lorraine with a frown.

"Oh. Yeah." George 'turned turtle' and hunched his shoulders. "I'm sorry."

"Well, now's as good a time as any," sighed Lorraine with another yawn. "You have any ideas?"

"Who, me?" George paled at the prospect. "I...I know...whatever you want, dear."

"Oh no, you don't. I named the other two by myself. You're not getting away with it this time." Lorraine frowned. She was still groggy, but her firmness had not waned in the least. Lorraine could be assertive when given the chance, especially when it came to her children. It was what George most admired about her.

George shrank back. "Um..."

Lorraine shook her head. "Don't you 'um' me again. Now take an active role and be a father, for once."

Ouch. George cringed, but knew better than to press the matter. "Okay. Let's see. Um...Arthur, after my father?"

The not-quite-young woman frowned. "No...it sounds too old. No one names their son Arthur anymore."

George bit his lip. "How about Sam, after _your_ father?"

Lorraine rolled her eyes. "Oh, Dad would _love_ that. No, that won't work either."

The poor George racked his brain for another family name. He couldn't just pull one out of thin air..."Uh...um...er...Marvin?"

His wife made a face. "'Marvin'? No, then he'll be teased for having a nerdy name."

"Good point." The last thing George wanted was for his son to go through the same agony of name-calling that he had. "What about Martin?"

"Martin?" Lorraine grew thoughtful. "Martin McFly...well, it's better than Marvin. And we could always call him Marty for short."

"Right." George nodded, eager to move on. "So, you like it?"

"I do. Now how about a middle name?"

"Middle name?"

"George..."

"Ok, ok!" George once more searched his head for another family name. One suddenly came to him. "Seamus."

Lorraine tilted her head to the side. "That's a little unusual."

George shrugged. "I know. It's Irish. That was the name of my great-grandfather who came to Hill Valley in the 1800s. I'm sorry, I'll pick something else-"

"No," said Lorraine quickly. She was very tired and wanted the baby's birth certificate signed before the night was out...and the name was rather pleasant to the ears. "Martin Seamus McFly...all right. Let's go with that."

"You like it?"

"I like it."

George all but collapsed with relief now that the frightening task was over. "Oh, good. So, Martin Seamus McFly it is." He gave his wife a little peck on the cheek. "Get some rest."

A nurse passing in the hall stopped to listen to the conversation and frowned at the moniker the parents had chosen to saddle their baby with. _Martin Seamus?_ The woman shuddered, shook her head, and walked on to finish her rounds. _Well, there's no accounting for taste, I suppose. _


	2. Fireworks

**Thursday, July 4, 1974, 8:23 PM  
McFly Family residence**

"Can not!"

"Can to!"

"Can not!" The two boys struggled to reach the box of sparklers sitting on top of the fridge between the Cocoa Krispies and the cookie jar. It was getting dark, and George- after failing miserably at barbequing and instead going to Burger King for dinner -had sent his children indoors to retrieve the sparklers to celebrate Independence Day. As eleven year old David was a foot and a half taller than his little brother, he had the clear advantage. All he had to do was reach up, give a little jump, and grab them. "C'mon, Marty. Dad asked me to get 'em, not you."

Marty, small even for six years old, jumped stubbornly for the box of sparklers. "Did not! Daddy just said 'get the sparklers'. He didn't say who."

David shrugged, holding the box above his head. "But he looked at _me_ when he said it." He pulled back when his little brother grabbed unhappily for his arm. "Cut it out!"

Marty growled, jumping once more for the sparklers. "C'mon, just lemme have one!"

"No," insisted David, fishing around for the box of matches. "You're too little to play with fireworks and you know it."

Marty flinched. His small stature had led to teasing in school and was a sore spot with him. "I'm not little!"

David scoffed. "Oh, yeah? Then how come you watch Sesame Street?"

Marty tilted his head to the side. "What's wrong with Sesame Street?"

The older boy gave a casual shrug, still fumbling for the matches. "Nothing...if you're little." His hand closed around the matchbox, and he smiled in satisfaction before sticking it in his pocket. He began walking toward the sliding glass door. "Come on, Shorty. Let's go."

Marty's blue eyes narrowed and filled with tears. 'Shorty' was his nickname at school and he hated it. It was bad enough hearing it from other people...but from his own brother? His big brother, who was supposed to protect him? It was too much. With a yell, Marty sprang forward and tackled his big brother to the floor, pounding on him with little fists. "Don't call me Shorty!"

David struggled to get away from his manic little brother. "Hey, get off! Marty, chill! Ow! Cut it out! Marty, you...DAD!"

In two seconds a confused-looking George came to the door and threw it open. For a minute he stood with a cringe watching his sons do battle, but then realized he would have to be the one to stop it. "Marty, stop. Marty, stop it. Marty! Get off your brother right now!"

Marty would not listen, not even when George gave a halfhearted tug to pull him off.

At that moment Lorraine came to the door. Her eyes were somewhat bleary, as they were on every holiday when she drank a bit more than usual, but seeing her offspring whale on one another cleared the haze that the booze had left behind. "Marty!" she cried in alarm. Quickly she rushed over and pulled him off of David. "Marty, what are you doing? Why are you hitting your brother?"

"He's mean," sputtered Marty, who by then was crying and red-faced with anger. "He's big, mean, and ugly!"

"What happened?" asked Lorraine in her commanding tone that said she meant business. The children knew it well.

David quickly rolled over and rose to his backside. "I don't know. I was getting the sparklers when he jumped me."

"He called me names first," said Marty in protest.

David rose to his feet in defense. "I didn't! I just said he was too little to use fireworks."

"Did too! You called me 'Shorty'!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Enough!" cried Lorraine. Both boys flinched and looked at their mother. "I don't care who started this, but I want both of you to apologize right now. And stop crying, Marty. Big boys don't cry."

David was, predictably, the first to sigh and nod. "I'm sorry, Marty."

Marty just stood glaring at his brother until further prodded by his father. When a reluctant 'sorry' escaped his lips, the incident was forgotten. David, Lorraine, and George all headed outside while Marty stayed behind. When he heard Linda mumble about 'Marty the Spaz', he clenched his fists and let the tears come again. He hardly saw his father poke his head back in the door.

"You coming, son?" asked George.

"No," said Marty. He sniffled loudly and wiped his eyes.

George sighed and dropped in front of the little boy. "Marty, I know you don't like it when people call you names. It happened to me too. But you can't do anything about it. It doesn't do any good to get mad and yell. Fighting doesn't solve anything."

Marty sniffled again. "What did ya do?"

George shrugged passively. "I learned to ignore them. It's just words."

Marty frowned and shook his head in protest. They weren't just words. They hurt, too, as much as a punch in the nose.

But George only held up his hand. "Just forget about it. At least David told you he was sorry." He rose to his feet and motioned to the door. "Come on. Let's go watch to fireworks."

Marty hesitated, then followed his father out the door. He wasn't sure if he believed the story about being teased. Surely if his father had been teased, he would have understood.


	3. The Rug

**Monday, December 20, 1976. 9:52 PM  
McFly Family Residence**

_Only five days 'till Christmas!_ Thought the pajama-clad boy excitedly as he counted off the days on the calendar. Grinning, eight year old Marty surveyed the house. Everything was perfect. The tree was up and decorated, the house smelled like cookies, and all the Christmas decorations were set out from the garlands to the wreaths.

The McFly family was far from perfect, but they sure knew how to do Christmas right. Marty sighed happily at the scene. Sure, the cookies were from the roll of dough in the refrigerator and half of them had burnt, but they still tasted good. Sure, the tree was fake, and the ornaments were old, but it was still Christmas. And, while David had insisted for the past three years that there was no Santa Claus and Linda had recently joined him in his stance, Marty knew for sure that he would be coming on Christmas Eve.

"Marty, are you in bed yet?" called the tired voice of Lorraine from the master bedroom. She had not particularly been working very hard, but had been tired a lot lately. She certainly looked tired, with the heavy bags forming under her eyes and the rare smile being halfhearted.

"Almost!" called Marty after a pause. Well, he was in his pajamas and his teeth had been brushed, so that was kind of true. He did wonder how his mother knew that it was him who was still up and not his brother or sister.

"Go to bed, Marty," called George in an equally-tired voice. "Now."

"OK!" Marty stealthily lifted the lid of the cookie jar and shoved another half-burnt cookie between his teeth before flipping off the living room lights and walking toward his bedroom. On the way a flicker has caught his eye. When he turned to look, he saw that the red candle on the mantle that his parents lit every night in the days leading up to Christmas was still burning. Marty frowned, swallowed the last of his cookie, and marched back into the dim living room. _I better blow that out before it catches something on fire, _he thought. Angling his head upward at the mantle, he blew hard.

The candle didn't go out. It didn't even flicker.

Marty frowned and blew again even harder. Nothing happened. Frowning, the boy realized he would have to pick the candle up and then blow it out. Marty shrugged and dutifully reached up to the mantle, grumbling softly about his height...or lack thereof. He couldn't reach the candle!

Marty groaned. _I hate being short. _He glanced at the chairs in the kitchen, then decided against it. They made too much noise when he pulled them out, and his parents were already unhappy with him for staying up past his bedtime when everyone else was already either asleep or in bed. He shrugged and decided to stand on his tiptoes. Straining his fingers, he reached for the candle. Just when he thought he had it, it slipped out of his hands...and fell toward the floor.

The candle did not go out as it fell, but landed sideways on the brand new area rug. The orange and green polyester immediately began to melt and blacken. With a spark, it caught.

Marty cried out in fear seeing the rapidly growing flames. The rug was on fire! His instructions from school about what to do when he saw fire came back to him quickly. _Tell an adult. _"Help! Fire! Mom! Dad! Fire!" With that much accomplished, he set about looking for water. There was a glass of half-drunk water sitting on the counter, so he grabbed that and ran toward the fire. Bravely he tossed the water at the flames, but it didn't seem to do any good. Smoke began filling the room.

At that moment George and Lorraine stumbled into the room. Seeing the foot-high flames, they both sprang into action.

"Oh, my God!" screamed Lorraine. "Marty!?" Frantically she began to look for her youngest.

George uncharacteristically swore and ripped a blanket from the couch. This was thrown over the flaming rug and stamped on aggressively. In seconds the fire was out, leaving family to stand in shock, coughing and trying to get their wits about them.

Lorraine had found Marty hiding behind the couch, unscathed, and so turned her attention to her husband. "George, are you hurt?"

George shook his head, coughing. "No. I'm all right." He rose shakily to his feet.

Lorraine shuddered. "Thank God..."

David and Linda stumbled into the room, coughing and bewildered, both asking what happened at once. George explained that the rug had caught fire, but it was out now and they were safe.

"How!?" asked David in confusion. Everyone turned to look at Marty, as he was the one who had raised the alarm.

Marty, who was near tears himself, bit his lip. "I...I...someone forgot to blow out the Christmas candle. I tried to, but...I knocked it over. I'm sorry!"

Lorraine's eyes widened and the turned to her youngest, face etched with fear and anger. "You what?" When the boy didn't, answer, she marched up to him. "Marty, how many times have I told you to stay away from fire? I don't care if it's a candle or a match; _you don't touch it!_ You understand?"

Marty flinched at hearing his mother raise her voice and hunched his shoulders. "I'm sorry," he said again, voice breaking.

"Sorry!?" cried Lorraine. Her own eyes filled with tears and she took Marty by the shoulders. "You almost burned this house down! Don't you understand? Everyone could have _died_, you included!"

"It was an accident! I didn't mean it," insisted Marty, starting to cry. Why was this happening? Why had trying to help turned out so wrong?

"Geez! We got a little pyro here," mumbled David.

"David, go to bed! You too, Linda!" Lorraine turned back to Marty. "You never, ever, EVER go near any fire, ever again! Do you hear me? Ever!"

Marty could only nod, trying unsuccessfully to hold in his tears.

At a loss as to what to do, Lorraine buried her face in her hands and turned away from Marty. "Just...go to bed, Marty. Don't come out until I tell you to. We'll figure out what to do in the morning."

Marty didn't even acknowledge his mothers' words. He just scurried down the hall and raced into his bedroom. The door was shut and his head was buried under the covers so no one could hear his sobs.


	4. Chicken

**Friday, February 3, 1978. 12:03 PM  
Hill Valley Elementary School**

The young boy sat sullenly in the hard wooden chair outside the principal's office, slouching and unrepentant. It was just as well that the hallways were empty. Everyone else was eating lunch.

_Lunch._ Marty's stomach growled and he glanced longingly at the battered red lunch box. Contained within was a bologna sandwich with cheese, an orange, and a thermos full of milk. A cold lunch, even in February, was ten times better than the rubbery, smelly Mystery Meat they served in the cafeteria. At that point the ten year old was almost hungry enough to eat that...but not quite.

The principal stuck his head out the door to peer at the boy. "Your father is on his way, McFly."

Marty acknowledged the news with a slight nod. He knew he was in for a lecture. He just knew it. George McFly was about as much of a pacifist as one could get, and he would not be happy to hear that his son had gotten into a fight.

The fact that his son saw himself as innocent was beside the point. Marty at least hoped he would be able to garner some sympathy with his black eye. He drew some satisfaction about his nemesis being worse off than he was. The loudmouthed Michael Thomas had gone home with not only a black eye, but a bloody lip and a broken nose.

It was a long fifteen minutes until a flustered George came around the corner at a worried trot, eyes darting nervously and unhappily about while the secretary was trying to explain the situation. His semi-stern look faded when he saw his son. "Marty!"

Marty looked at his father for half a second, blue eyes briefly laced with guilt.

George bent over and gave the black eye a cursory look. "You OK, son?"

Marty shrugged without answering.

A weary sigh issued from George and he shook his head. "Well, come on. Let's go home. We'll talk about this in the car." At the last sentence his sternness returned.

Marty nodded and rose from his seat, book bag and lunchbox in hand, to follow his father down the hall. Rather than hang his head in shame as he passed the empty classrooms, he lifted his head up in stubbornness.

_It wasn't my fault._

Once in the old brown Dodge four-door that was only two years younger than he, Marty sat quietly in the front seat and waited for the inevitable first sentence decrying fighting.

"Marty, what have I told you about fighting?" asked George, shaking his head in disapproval.

"He started it," began Marty, his defense already prepared. "He called me-"

"I don't care who called you what. Besides, that's not what I asked."

"Fighting doesn't solve anything," muttered Marty. It was his fathers' motto, and it was to be stuck to at all costs. "But he didn't just call me names this time! He pushed me!"

George hesitated for a moment and glanced at the boy. "Hard?"

Marty nodded, feeling his eyes sting at the memory. "Yeah. I fell down on the pavement, see?" He held up a bloodied palm.

George cringed. "So...who did this?"

Marty scowled. "Mike Thomas." The Thomas boy had been his main tormenter since kindergarten. It had started with the nickname 'Shorty', and then escalated into stealing his notebook and seeing whatever he could do to provoke a reaction.

"Oh, him again?" George shook his head and sighed. "He's twice your size. You can't take on a kid that big."

"I did. I got him good."

"Did it make him stop?"

Marty looked away unhappily. "No. A teacher had to pull us apart."

The older McFly nodded. "There, you see? It didn't solve anything...and now your mother's going to worry herself sick." He sighed, looking again at Marty's black eye. "Does it hurt?"

Marty shrugged. When his eye had been hit, it had made him cry. It didn't hurt as much now...but the memory was enough to make him sniffle. He did feel bad for worrying his mother...and found himself wondering if Mike would follow through on his threat of telling his father.

As was expected, Lorraine was quite unhappy at both the fight and the fact her youngest was hurt. While she did honestly care about all her children, she felt a little more protective of Marty since he was so small. For treatment she gave him a washcloth soaked in icy water, since they didn't have any steaks. She did not berate him as much as George did when she found out the fight was in self-defense, but she did agree that Marty was wrong in breaking the other kid's nose.

Marty's black eye was a point of wide-eyed shock from both Linda and Dave when they came home from school themselves, but George stopped any further conversation about it.

While dinner was cooking and the children were doing their homework, there was a heavy knock at the door.

George, fiddling with the rabbit-ears antenna to get better reception, groaned. He hated stopping in the middle of anything.

_Knock-knock-knock!_ The knock was growing louder and more insistent. Lorraine, who was cooking spaghetti, looked up and groaned herself. "George, could you get that?"

George sighed and nodded. "Ok." he laid down the antenna and walked away, leaving the set in noisy gray-and-black snow. He opened the door to find a very unhappy Robert Thomas standing there with his bruised son. "Robert-"

"Don't start, McFly," warned Robert. "You see my kid here? You see what your little brat did to him?"

On cue, Mike lifted his face to show off his own impressive shiner, broken nose, and stitches in his lip.

George winced. "Oh...I am so sorry. I knew there was a fight-"

"Yeah, one that your kid started! Mikey was just mindin' his own business when your Marvin, or whatever his name is, tripped him!"

"It's Marty. And are you sure that's what-"

"You callin' my kid a liar?" Robert's six-foot-two stature towered over George and he glared menacingly.

Quickly George shrank back and shook his head. "No...no, of course not." He was, of course apt to believe his own son, but felt life and limb were in danger if he didn't agree with Mr. Thomas. "Is there anything I can-"

Again, Robert didn't let George finish. "Yeah! You can make sure it doesn't happen again!"

George swallowed and called to Marty, who was staring one-eyed at his fractions. "Marty, come here."

Marty rose slowly from the table and approached at a cautious walk. _Uh-oh_. George had never stood up for anyone in his entire life, even himself. But then, Marty was his son. Perhaps this was Marty's chance to see his father be assertive, for once. He stood a step behind, trying not to look at the stewing Mike.

"Marty, did you do this to Mike?" asked George, ignoring the incredulous look of Mike's father.

"Yeah," said Marty, with only a hint of remorse.

"See? Even he admits it!" Robert scowled. "So, what are you gonna do to make sure it doesn't happen again?"

"I already talked to him about it-"

"Talk!? If that were my kid, I'd tan his hide!"

"Um..." George had not really be intending to punish Marty too severely. He felt the black eye and the reprimand were enough. But again, he felt intimidate by the taller, stronger man. "Marty, you're grounded."

Marty's face fell at the exchange. "But-"

Robert scoffed. "Grounded? Gimme a break!"

George cringed. He knew in his heart he could never hit anyone, especially not his own flesh and blood. Best to make the punishment severe in other ways. "For two months." He glanced cautiously at Robert to see if he was satisfied.

The taller man growled. "You're too soft, McFly. That little chicken could use a good whipping...but who cares? You just better make sure he doesn't cause any more trouble, got it?"

George nodded. "Got it. Have a nice night."

Robert scoffed, rolled his eyes, turning away. He didn't seem to notice Mike looking smugly over his shoulder and making faces at Marty before the door was shut.

George shuddered as he shut the door, turning to his youngest son, who by then was back in tears. "Marty..."

Marty looked on in disbelief. His image of a caring father was shattered. What kind of father would shrink under the gaze of another? What kind of father would let himself and his own son be insulted to their faces, and essentially let his son be called a liar? There was nothing else to be said.

Anxious to avoid any more outbursts, George dropped to his son's level. "Marty, I'm sorry. But I had to. Don't you understand?"

Slowly the boy shook his head and backed up. Finally, he ran down the hallway and into his room. As he cried and ignored the soft knocks on his door that followed, Marty made up his mind that he would never, ever be like his father. When he grew up, he would stand up for himself and others around him.

He certainly couldn't rely on his father to do that. It was time to face the cold, hard reality.

George McFly was a coward.


	5. Rock N' Roll

**Saturday, August 19, 1978. 1:36 PM  
Hill Valley Music Shop**

"Hey, what do you think you're doing over there?"

Marty flinched and pulled away from the window where he had been pressing his nose against the glass. He was expecting a scolding. That's what his mother did when the children had pressed their noses against the glass. She said it left marks. Slowly and fearfully Marty began backing up. "S-sorry," he sputtered. "I was just looking."

The rotund music store owner with a white mustache saw that he had frightened the kid. He raised his eyebrows in sudden recognition. "You come around here a lot, don't you?"

Marty nodded, sheepish. The music shop was on his route for a Saturday morning walk. The walk had been his fathers' idea. He said his son needed an 'outlet' for his anger. The walk, while kind of boring at first, became Marty's favorite thing to do. It still hurt that no one wanted to play with him on Saturdays. Hearing the muted strains of electric guitar from the record store across the street and then looking in the window of the music shop helped ease the pain of loneliness. It was certainly better than staying home and watching old television reruns with his father or watching his mother pass out from too much alcohol. Both Dave and Linda had friends to hang out with on Saturdays.

"Hey, what's a little guy like you doing running around town by yourself?" asked the man in an almost grandfatherly tone.

"I'm not little," said Marty quickly. "I'm ten and a half!"

"Oh, excuse me," said the man, raising his eyebrows and chuckling to himself. He turned to look at the mark on the window...it was right in front of the guitar display. "You like guitars, huh?"

Marty nodded. "Yeah. Especially the electric kind."

Again, the shop owner chuckled. "Figures. You want to come inside and see one close-up?"

Marty's eyes widened in surprise. "Can I?"

"Sure! That's what it's here for."

The boy only hesitated for a moment before he all but ran inside. What he found made his jaw fall to the floor. What he had seen from the window had only been the tip of the proverbial iceberg. There were guitars of all shapes and sizes...from acoustic Gibsons, to stylish Fenders, to tiny little Erlewines. He even saw a brand new Les Paul, the type of guitar that Pete Townshend used. In addition to all the guitars were amplifiers, microphones, woodwinds from little school recorders to full-size clarinets, a few violins, and enough sheet music to be laid end to end from Hill Valley to Hollywood. There was even a full drum set in the corner.

Marty stood in awe of the place, staring with equally wide eyes and mouth at the musicians' paradise of that he found himself in. The store smelled of varnish, electronics, rosin, and wood. It boggled the mind that so much could be crammed into a little shop. The sound of guitar playing to his left caught his attention, and he whirled around to see a small black and white TV set playing footage from years back of a flamboyant musician whose fingers flew over the frets while he strummed like one possessed.

"He never ever learned to read and write so well," he sang with a unique voice, "but he could play a guitar just like ringin' a bell!"

Marty's eyebrows shot up. This sounded oddly familiar, like the type of music his parents had listened to. He couldn't identify the musician, however. "Who's that?"

The music store owner scoffed. "You mean you don't know who Chuck Berry is?"

_Oh! _Marty took a step back in defense. "Of course I do. I've just never seen him before, that's all." He watched the man in awe, then started laughing as he hopped across the stage as he strummed, one foot flying wildly in the air. When the song ended, the videotape stopped, ending in gray snow.

The shop owner chuckled. "Yeah, he's quite a character. Sure can play, though." He shook his head and indicated the store. "Want to see anything in particular?"

Marty began turning in a slow circle until his eyes fell on a black Stratocaster hanging near the ceiling. "What's that one sound like?"

The owner smiled and quickly pulled the guitar down from its' hook. "Here we go. Brand new black Strat. Maple neck, three single coils..." He went over the various features and then looked at Marty. "Wanna try it?"

_Would I ever!_ Marty nodded eagerly. He'd never held a guitar in his life, but how hard could it be? He watched while the owner hooked up the guitar to an amplifier, then handed it to the boy. Marty handled the instrument as if it was made out of glass. The last thing he wanted to do was break an expensive guitar. He'd be mowing lawns for the rest of his life. Thanking the owner for the pick he was handed, Marty tried to remember how he'd seen the thing held. Holding the neck firmly in one hand, he gave a firm strum with the pick...and then yelped in surprise when a loud cacophony bust forth. Quickly he handed the guitar back to the shop owner. "Sorry."

The man in question was laughing. "That's OK. You didn't break anything. Never played, huh?"

Marty sheepishly shook his head.

"Wanna learn?"

Marty's heart soared for a brief second before it sank once again. "I can't."

The shop owner frowned. "How come? Can't afford it?"

Marty cringed but said nothing. While his family wasn't really struggling financially- they managed to pay bills and keep food in the house -they definitely didn't have enough for any extras beyond Christmas and the occasional family camping trip. He shrugged.

The shop owner shrugged. "Don't worry about it, kid. It's nothing to be ashamed of." He hung the guitar back up. Seeing the look of disappointment on the boy's face, he sighed. "Hey, I'll tell you what. I've been looking for someone to sweep up and keep things neat and organized. I tried hiring a few teenagers but all they want to do is flip burgers...or flip me off." The man rolled his eyes. "So, you want a job? I couldn't pay much, but I could give you a few guitar lessons along with it. Whaddya say?"

A look of joy that was near euphoria dawned on Marty's face. Once again his mouth hung open in shock. "Really? You mean it?"

The man crossed his arms. "If Hank McGowan makes a promise, he keeps it."

"That'd be great!" Marty cried enthusiastically. His smile faded abruptly. "But I'd have to ask my parents."

"Sure, go ahead."

"I'll go right now!" Marty turned and dash out of the store. "Bye, Mr. McGowan!"

"Hey!" hollered Hank, laughing. "What's your name, kid?"

"Marty," replied the boy quickly. "Marty McFly. See ya!" And with that, the ten year old was off and running, praying and hoping that his parents would say yes.

In the end it took quite a bit of convincing for both George and Lorraine to agree to the arrangement, but it was surprisingly George who went to bat for his youngest and mentioned a part-time job he'd had at the same age. Marty was surprised at that and utterly over the moon with the news.

The next week, Marty began. In return for sweeping up, keeping things organized, and hanging price tags after school, Marty received ten dollars a week and a guitar lesson every Saturday. He learned how to hold the guitar, the chords, and how to strum properly. To his disappointment his first lessons were on an acoustic guitar, but he was a quick study. In only two months he was playing basic songs.

Music turned out to be Marty's saving grace. It helped cool his fiery temper. If he was angry, sad, or lonely, he could express his feelings on the guitar. His parents noticed this and were quite relieved.

Here was the 'outlet' that Marty had needed.


	6. Skateboard

**Thursday, June 12, 1980. 5:56 PM  
McFly Family Residence**

"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you..."

The boy's freckled, ruddy face and blue eyes were alight with the glow from the twelve birthday candles sitting on his cake as mother, father, brother, and sister sang to him. They were hopelessly off-key, but it only grated on his nerves a little bit. Even though the cake was a bit lopsided and both cake and frosting were made from mixes, it was still his birthday. Young Marty McFly briefly looked around at his family.

He had wanted a party. For once his mother had agreed to it, but when he had handed out invitations at school, no one had heeded them. At best he got a sympathetic glance and smile, at worst a look of disgust or disbelieving laughter. Once again, the harsh reality was that Marty didn't have any friends. So, he was left to sit with his family as he always had. And this time not even his grandparents had come out. Grandma and Grandpa Baines had gone on an early summer vacation to the Grand Canyon and wouldn't be back for another week. It was shaping up to be a very depressing birthday.

Even the family he sat with didn't look all that enthusiastic. George was his usual apologetic self while Lorraine's smile was somewhat strained. Linda, being a teenager, slouched in her chair with a look that said she'd rather be anywhere but the family dining room. Only Dave had an honest smile on his face. That in itself was unusual, as he'd been a perpetual grump since hitting thirteen. Something was definitely afoot.

The singing ended. "Make a wish, Marty," encouraged Lorraine.

Marty didn't see much point in making a wish for something that he knew he would never get, but sighed and closed his eyes briefly anyway. Embarrassment and even disgust at his mother's drinking was starting to morph into pity. At least she was never mean...and she tried. She really did. And Marty honestly wanted his mother to be happy. So he pretended to wish before blowing out his candles.

Lorraine gave another strained smile as she cut the chocolate cake. "Sorry about the cake," she said quietly. "I know it's not your favorite."

Marty shrugged easily. Unlike the rest of his family, he wasn't much a chocolate fan. It wasn't that he didn't like it at all, it was just that he preferred vanilla. Chocolate cake mix was usually kept in the house due to George and David's near obsession with the flavor. So, when the baking supplies had run low and Lorraine knew a birthday was coming, she had baked a chocolate cake out of pure habit. "It's OK, Mom." He willingly took the plate offered to him and picked up a fork.

The cake was eaten in silence. Linda ate two bites before retreating back into her bedroom while both George and David thoroughly enjoyed theirs.

When the cake had been put away and the dishes put in the sink, David unexpectedly stood up. "OK, time for presents!" he announced.

George and Lorraine each glanced guiltily at each other. They'd both forgotten the day until Marty had reminded them that morning and so had not gotten anything for their son, even a card. "David," said Lorraine cautiously.

David shrugged. "Chill, Mom. I've got it." He reached under the table and pulled out a very large box wrapped in bright blue paper. He handed it to Marty. "Here you go. Happy Birthday."

Marty turned to his big brother in shock. Never before had David gotten Marty anything for his birthday. What was with this sudden change of heart?

"David, what did you do?" asked Lorraine, unsure of how to process this unexpected generosity.

"Is this a joke?" asked Marty suspiciously. He poked the box as if it would jump at him.

"Hey, would I pull a prank like that on my kid brother?" David rumpled Marty's thick brown hair.

Marty pulled away, straightening out his hair. "I don't know. Maybe."

David sighed impatiently. "Chill, OK? You'll like it. I promise."

After eyeing the tall, curly-haired young man for a minute, Marty picked up the box and shook it. "It's awful big...what is it?"

David groaned. "Open it and find out!"

Marty shrugged and pulled at the wrapping paper. He found a plain cardboard box. He lifted the lid and peered inside..then his jaw all but unhinged. "No, way!" Laying amid packing peanuts was a brand-new skateboard. He lifted it out with reverence. "Aw, man..."

Lorraine's tired eyes went wide and George was rendered speechless. Lorraine was the first to break the silence. "Oh, David, you didn't," she said disapprovingly.

David seemed pleased with the reaction. "I did." He turned to Marty. "So, you like it?"

Marty nodded, putting his hand on one of the wheels and making it spin. For months he had been begging his parents for a skateboard. While George had hemmed and hawed, Lorraine had always given a firm 'no'. She felt the wheeled contraptions were too dangerous and didn't want her youngest breaking an arm...that, and they were about $30 apiece. Marty's suspicion returned for a bare moment and he eyed his older brother. "Why?"

"C'mon. Does a guy need a reason to give his kid brother a birthday present?" David pulled Marty into a headlock and gave him a firm noogie.

Marty pulled away with a yelp, but managed a smile. "Thanks." He began looking over the present again.

Lorraine was shaking her head in disappointment. "David..."

David ignored his mother's frown and tugged at Marty's arm. "C'mon! Let's see you try it out!"

Marty eagerly rose from his seat and took his birthday present outside, barely hearing the admonition to be back before dark. "Cool!"

He was then given a 'crash course' on skateboarding from his brother. David had only ridden his friends' skateboard a few times, but knew enough to give Marty the basics. By sunset, Marty had a large bruise on his backside, but had learned how to stand up on his own.

David was chuckling to himself as they walked back into the house. "Man, did you _see_ the look on Mom's face when you opened that thing? You'd think it was a pet lion, or something!"

And then Marty understood. David had not gotten his little brother the 'forbidden' skateboard because he cared...at least not entirely. Mostly he had gotten it to see the reaction from his mother. Possibly to give him something to tease Marty about. Marty shook off the revelation. _Who cares? I got the best birthday present ever!_


	7. The Dog

**A/N: Thank you all so much for the kind reviews! In answering your questions...  
1: This is only the un-altered timeline, where George McFly is a geek and Lorraine has a drinking problem.  
2: Yes, we will see such familiar characters as Doc Brown and Jennifer and find out how Marty met them.  
3: Marty appeared not to know about Martin McFly- brother of Seamus -in Part Three, so I assume he was never told about the connection. I make the further assumption that George ether doesn't know or forgot when he named his son.**

**WARNING! Cliffhanger!**

**Sunday, June 21, 1981. 11:23 AM  
Downtown Hill Valley**

_Mom's gonna kill me,_ thought the young man unhappily as he shuffled down the street, skateboard in hand. The thought was hardly formed when Marty reconsidered it. _Maybe not kill me...but this skateboard is toast._ Marty glanced at the scraped deck of his wheeled 'toy', knowing that Lorraine was going to be furious when she found out Marty had been hurt while riding it. It was going to be the worst Sunday in history.

The day had begun well enough. Marty, as was his custom on Sunday mornings, would ride his skateboard to the park to fool around and try new tricks. There were other boys there as well, older ones. They teased Marty about his stature and dared him to try new tricks. Every week Marty would practice the tricks until he had them down cold, and then return the following week to show off. By then the boys would have a new trick for him to learn.

This week it was different. This week they had dared Marty to try a jump, right then and there, off the curb of the sidewalk into the path several feet below, bordered by a cinderblock wall. Marty had scoffed at such a dangerous stunt, but when the boys had called him 'Chicken'...well, that was that. Marty angrily turned around and picked up his board to try it.

The first three times he had bailed out. On the fourth, he had followed through on the stunt. Somehow, he'd landed it and was about to look smugly at the teasing boys when the skateboard hit a rock, of all things, and he had wiped out.

Either way, the boys had relented and stopped calling him names. Marty, meanwhile, had turned to go home, not letting them see his tears of pain.

Marty glanced at his injury. His right wrist was swollen, bruised and misshapen. It had to be broken. Lorraine had always warned her son that he was going to break something, and now she was proved right. The young man grimaced upon thinking of her reaction...and of the doctor visit that was going to follow. Marty hated going to the doctor. He may have been thirteen, but between the sharp smells, the sounds, and the needles, Marty would rather set the bone himself than go through the misery of modern medicine.

Loud honks from the road made Marty lift his head and look around. The cars in the left-hand lane were constantly stopping, honking, and then driving on. Something was in the road. It didn't take long to see what it was.

It was a large grey and brown mutt, trying to cross the street. When the cars honked, he'd backed onto the sidewalk and whined. Again  
and again he tried crossing, but with no success.

Marty winced in sympathy and worry. He cringed when the cars honked again, and the dog scurried back, tail tucked. "C'mon, dog. You're gonna get run over. Go home," he muttered.

The dog continued to pace and whine on the other side of the street, watching traffic. Finally, when it had eased, he trotted across yet again. The shaggy animal didn't see the car coming around the far corner.

Marty did. He couldn't stand the idea of seeing a dog hit by a car, so he dashed out into the street himself. Ignoring the honks of the cars around him, he grabbed the dog by the collar and hauled him over to the opposite side out of harm's way. The pair was narrowly missed by several other cars. Marty shuddered while the dog struggled against his grip, whining. "Whoa, easy, boy. Take it easy. I'm not gonna hurt you. Geez, I saved your life. Why would I hurt you?"

The dog continued to struggle, pulling back toward the street.

Marty held fast to the worn leather collar. "No! I'm gonna let you get run over. Shh. Easy, boy. It's okay." Marty frowned and looked around for a way to placate the stubborn mutt when he remember the stick of beef jerky in his back pocket. he pulled it out and held it in front of the dog's nose. "Hey, look what I got for you."

Abruptly the dog stopped struggling and eagerly sniffed the treat, his bushy tail waving slowly back and forth.

Marty broke off a piece of the jerky and carefully fed the dog. "There you go, boy."

Chomp! The dog snagged the treat out of the boy's hand and gulped it down, licking his chops.

"There. See? I'm your friend." Marty smiled in relief and satisfaction at having saved the dog's life. He noted how gentle the dog was in sniffing his hands and how dirty his coat was. Obviously the animal had been running loose for several days. Marty frowned as he fed the dog another piece of jerky. "You lost, boy?"

Come to think of it, he'd never seen the dog around before. Where was his owner? Did he even have an owner? Marty imagined someone neglecting the animal and grew angry. Perhaps the dog had run away from an abusive home. Briefly Marty considered taking the dog home with him.

Marty had always wanted a dog, but his parents had never allowed it. George and Linda both had violent allergies to dogs and cats, so the family pets were limited to goldfish and parakeets.

_I don't care,_ thought Marty, stroking the dog. _I can't leave him out in the street. He could still be hit by a car. _ That was that. His mind was made up. Marty was going to take the dog home and deal with the reactions from his family later. At least it would give the poor thing a night in safety before being taken to the pound.

Marty rose to his feet and continued feeding the dog bits of jerky. "C'mon, boy. Let's go."

Willingly the dog followed the boy with the beef jerky, wagging his tail.

As Marty and the dog walked along, Marty spoke to the animal with a soft voice and ended up telling his deepest secrets to the dog. He told him everything, from the bullying, to the problems at home. Marty had never really spoken to anyone about such things and so found himself relaxing, even as the practical side of him worried about what would happen to the dog...and about the pain in his wrist, which had not abated. If anything, it was worse.

Rounding the corner toward home, Marty caught sight of a handwritten paper sign hanging on a telephone pole. 'Lost Dog', it proclaimed. 'Reward!' Beneath was a full description of the animal: 'Brown and gray 2 yr. old longhaired Bearded Collie mix. Neutered male. Brown eyes, brown collar, 65 lbs. Answers to 'Einstein'. Please call immediately!' And there was both a phone number and an address.

Marty's heart sank and he turned back to the dog. It matched the description perfectly. He knew that he had to return the animal to its' rightful owner...but maybe this was the wrong dog. He bit his lip and tried the name. "Einstein? Is that your name, boy? Einstein?"

At the mention of the name, the dog immediately turn to the boy, lifted his ears, and wagged his tail.

Marty hung his head, still scratching the dog behind the ears. That was it, then. The dog was lost and would have to be returned. He swore softly under his breath and blinked back the coming tears as he ripped the poster from the pole, stuffed it in his pocket, and turned around to head back toward town. _Hope the reward is good_, he thought. _Man, Sundays stink!_

The walk from Lyon Estates back to downtown Hill Valley was pure misery. Nothing ever seemed to go right! Here, Marty had thought to find a friend at last...but it was not to be. The young man let the tears fall as he and the dog made their way to 1646 John F. Kennedy Drive.

Marty scanned the street numbers and counted down each one. He was very much surprised to see that the 'house' was nothing more than a large converted garage in the heart of Hill Valley...right next to Burger King. How many times had he and his parents gotten an abbreviated dinner from that very restaurant?

The driveway was empty, but Marty felt a strange sense of foreboding as he walked slowly up to the unlocked chain link gate. He could remember some weird stories told about this place from the kids at school. Rumor had it that a mad scientist lived there, who re-animated dead body parts like Dr. Frankenstein. Others, mostly adults, said that it was the home of a mentally-ill person who claimed to be able to read a person's thoughts. Still others said that the 'scientist' description was just a cover-up...it was really a psycho murderer hiding out in the tiny Californian town.

The dog certainly wasn't worried. He broke away from Marty and ran right up to the gate, whining and pawing at it. In a few minutes the gate had opened and the dog ambled inside.

The blood drained from Marty's face. Who knew what kind of horrible experiments this 'mad scientist' might perform on the poor dog? He ran after the animal. "Hey! Wait! Einstein, no!" But the dog had disappeared, almost as if by magic. Marty spun round and round, feeling sick. "Einstien...c'mon, boy, come on out of there. Einstein!"

"Arf! Arf!" The big sheepdog's head popped up. He had found his way in through an open window.

_Oh, crap_. The sound of a large vehicle parking in the driveway increased Marty's anxiety, and he swore again. Fearful both of being caught and of what might happen to the poor, innocent dog, Marty dove in headfirst through the window, knocking over a couple of clocks in the process. As the boy rose painfully to his feet, he saw before him no kind of sight like he had expected.

The place was a shambles. Piles of cardboard boxes lay everywhere. Papers of all descriptions lay stacked eighteen inches high on shelves, while blueprints for all sorts of outlandish devices hung haphazardly on the walls among other bits and pieces. On the wall nearest the door lay a type of contraption somewhere in the process of being built that included a TV, a timer, a coffee maker, and a pile of scrap metal that was in the process of being assembled with nuts, bolts, and miles of red and blue wire. On the floor next to the front door and the workbench lay a dog bowl with 'Einstein' printed across the side in red. On the opposite wall was a much rumpled cot and orange crate that had been upended to serve as a nightstand. On it was a dirty plate bearing the remains of some sort of breakfast...eggs and toast with butter, to be exact. And that was only the first half of the place.

Marty stood rooted to the spot, jaw hanging open, as he took all this in. A furry head nosing it way under his hand reminded him of why he was here. He grabbed the dog's collar. "Come on, boy. We gotta get outta here before-"

A key clicked in the door. Einstein whined and wagged his tail, looking expectantly at the door. His master was home.

Panicked, Marty looked for a place to hide. He dove under the cot and pulled one of the blankets down to the floor as the front door opened with a creak...

_To be continued..._


	8. Dr Brown

**Sunday, June 21, 1981. 12:57 PM  
1646 John F. Kennedy Dr.  
Hill Valley, California**

At first, Marty couldn't see anything from his spot beneath the rumpled cot besides the worn brown shoes and khaki pants belonging to the man who had just entered the room.

"What in the name of- Einstein!" cried the man in delight. He dropped whatever bundle he had and went to the floor, welcoming the dog into his arms. "Einie, you furry, four-legged renegade! Where have you been?" He seemed to laugh as the dog leapt about, whining and licking. "Yes, I missed you, too."

Marty's worry for the dog lessened somewhat. The pair certainly seemed happy to be reunited.

Einstein had since rolled over for a belly rub, which the tall man quickly obliged, "Poor fellow. Haven't been eating well, have you? Well, then, I suppose you're hungry." The man jumped back to his feet. "How about a nice nutritious afternoon meal of..." he paused. "Chunky sirloin dinner with gravy. Mm, sounds good." He picked something up, took it over to a machine, and then pressed a button.

Einstein whined as the can was opened. When a chunky, meaty, smelly substance was poured into his bowl, he devoured it hungrily, wagging his tail.

Marty watched with confusion. Who was this man? He couldn't be too bad to have gained trust from a dog...but then, maybe this dog wasn't very smart. Either way, he knew that sooner or later he was going to have to get out from under this cot and go home. His wrist was killing him and his legs were growing stiff from awkwardly holding his skateboard at a weird angle under the cot.

Suddenly his feet slipped. The skateboard rolled out from under the cot and tapped the man's feet.

The man jumped about a foot in the air and picked up the skateboard. "What the...great Scott!" he exclaimed, dropping the skateboard. "An intruder! Einie, why didn't you say something? Fine watchdog you are." There was a mad scramble and the sound of something being picked up. "All right now, whoever you are. Come out from under that cot with your hands up!"

Marty cursed silently and slowly crawled out from under the cot, hands first. In the process he was able to get a good look at the dog's owner.

His age could only be guessed at, but if his chin-length white hair was any indication, he was very old. He was dressed in khaki pants, brown leather shoes, and a very loud Hawaiian shirt. He was armed with an old tennis racket with a large hole in the center. His large brown eyes were wild and his hair was frizzy, as if he had just been zapped with electricity. He towered over Marty at well over six feet tall and his build reminded one of Herman Munster...only much skinnier.

He gave a rather triumphant sound. "Aha! Just as I suspected. Another juvenile delinquent. Well, young man, you have one minute to explain yourself before I call the authorities."

Marty gulped, hands in the air and butt parked on the cold concrete floor. "Uh...honest, I didn't mean to come in. It's just that the dog jumped in the window and I was worried about him...so I followed."

The tall, white-haired man frowned and lowered the tennis racket, glancing at the dog. "How did you come to this particular address in the first place?"

"The poster." Marty quickly fished the rumpled 'Lost Dog' poster out of his pocket. "See, your dog- Einstien -was running around town. I thought he might get hit by a car, so I took him out of the street. I saw the poster and realized he belonged to somebody, so..." he shrugged. "I brought him back."

"Hmm..." The tennis racket was now lowered completely and the man looked from the dog to the young man and then back. Einstein had just finished eating and certainly didn't look alarmed. Normally he was a pretty good watchdog and would bark at anyone he didn't know. "Very unusual. Einstein doesn't just go with anyone," he said, almost to himself. His head snapped back up at Marty. "How did you get him to follow you?"

"I fed him some jerky."

"Oh, well, that explains it." The man seemed somewhat placated. His busy eyebrows shot back up a moment later in suspicion. "So why did you follow him inside?"

"I..." Marty cringed. "I thought...I thought you were a...uh..."

"Nuts?" The man's face suddenly grew very weary, as if he had heard such things before.

Marty couldn't respond beyond hanging his head.

To the boy's surprise, the tall white-haired man smiled and began to chuckle. He waved his hand about as if clearing the air. "It seems half the town feels the same way, only they're too scared to even say 'how-do-you-do'. They'd just as soon assume I'm a mad scientist." More laughter. The man laid the tennis racket down on his workbench. "Well, young man, it seems we both made an error in judgment. I assume you'll be expecting the reward, then?"

Marty blinked and shook his head. "No...that's OK. I need to get home."

The man shrugged. "Nonsense! One good turn deserves another, as they say, and I intend to follow through on my promise." He took Marty's right hand to help him to his feet.

Marty yelped and pulled back in pain.

The tall man frowned. "You're injured?"

Marty shrugged and rose to his feet, favoring his arm. "It's nothing. I got to get going-"

The tall man shook his head. "Oh, no. Come on, now. Let me at least have a look." He held out his hand.

Marty hesitated. "Are you a doctor, or something?"

"Technically, yes, but not of the medical persuasion. I have a doctorate in physics and general science...but with that comes limited knowledge of the human body and general biology." He gently took Marty's wrist in his hands and peered at it. "How did you manage to do this?"

"Fell off my skateboard," answered Marty with a wince. He pulled away when the man pressed on the joint. "Ow! Geez!"

"The only way to be certain is to have an X-ray, but you appear to have torn the palmar radiocarpal ligament, as well as having a possible carpal dislocation," he surmised thoughtfully.

"Huh?" Marty's head spun with all the ten-dollar words.

The man glanced at the boy. "You sprained your wrist and probably knocked it out of joint," he explained.

Marty blinked. "Oh." He peered at the bruising and swelling. "Can you fix it?"

The tall scientist shook his head. "No, no. What you need is an X-ray." He let the hand drop. "You get yourself to the doctor...get that taken care of."

Marty nodded and slung his book bag over his shoulder. "OK. Thanks, Mr...?"

"Where are my manners?" exclaimed the man, slapping his forehead. He extended his left hand for Marty to shake. "Dr. Emmett Brown. And what might you call yourself?"

"Marty," answered the youth, now more at ease around the scientist. "Marty McFly."

"Well then, I must thank you, Marty, for returning Einstein. This dog means a great deal to me." A slight smile crossed Dr. Brown's features and he patted the dog in question.

"Ah, it's OK. If I had a dog, I'd feel the same way." Marty smiled in returned and scratched Einstein's ears.

Another smile rose, and the scientist grew thoughtful. "Well, you get yourself home, Marty. As soon as your wrist is feeling better, I should like to discuss a proposition with you."

Marty's eyebrows shot up as he picked up book bag and skateboard. "Whaddya mean?"

Dr. Brown sighed. "Due to my line of work, I unfortunately can't always be there for Einstein, nor can I bring him along. If you would like to walk and feed the dog on such occasions, I would be greatly obliged."

_Whoa!_ Marty jumped backwards in surprise. Never before had he had the chance to spend such time with a dog. It was very tempting. "Aw, gee. I don't know..."

"I would, of course, pay you for such a thing. But Einstein certainly seems to like you, and he is not a dog who gives affection freely."

"Um...I'll think about it."

"Of course. You might ask your parents about it, as well."

Marty scoffed at the notion. _Yeah, right_. They had practically forbid him to ever go near this place. "Yeah. I guess. Bye, Doc!" He backed out the door, stumbled a little, then walked away.

The day had begun on such a rotten note, but in the end, it had turned out to be the best Sunday ever. Marty had a feeling that he might have even made a couple of friends. The idea helped him forget the pain in his wrist as he walked home.


	9. Slacker

**A/N: Sorry this took so long to update! Between the birth of my niece, getting ready for the next semester of college, and an awful case of writers' block, I haven't had much of a chance to muse. Hopefully the next chapter will come sooner than this one did! In any case, thank you all SO MUCH for the kind reviews! (hugs)**

**Monday, September 6, 1982. 7:45 AM  
Hill Valley High School**

_I'm totally lost,_ thought Marty as he wandered aimlessly about the long hallways. Dressed in jeans, sneakers, polo shirt, and a light jacket with a brand-new backpack slung over his shoulder, the fourteen year old could not possibly have been more nervous. His father had simply dropped him off with a quiet 'Bye, Son' and driven off, leaving him to mount the steps and enter the imposing white and gray monolith by himself.

It wasn't that Marty needed Mommy and Daddy to hold his hand...he just had no idea where to go. He knew his first class was English, and that he had a locker floating around somewhere with his name on it, but beyond that the young man was utterly lost. Some faces he recognized from elementary school. Most were new. There were boys with afros, girls with teased curls and large earrings, and a large collection of jackets...leather, denim, cotton, and a sea of colorful polyester. Half of the students were wearing glasses, either huge, dorky horn-rimmed coke bottles or stylish sunglasses. Marty didn't see anyone who looked as nervous as he felt and knew better than to actually ask advice. Already some of the older, taller jocks were clustered together and snickering.

Biting his lip, Marty studied the note that had been sent along with him with his locker number, combination, and the location of each of the classrooms. It was little help. He had no idea along which wall Locker 157 was located, or where to find Room 13.

_RIIINNNGGG!_

Like cockroaches in daylight, the students scattered into their classes, some running, some walking, some swaggering. Countless older boys bumped roughly into Marty or purposely elbowed his shoulder as they passed him. By the time Marty had turned around to say "Hey, watch it!" the perpetrators were gone, and the forlorn young man was left alone in the hallway. Marty swore under his breath. _Great. Now, what?_

A line of green lockers caught his eye, and he quickly rushed over to them, searching for number 157. At last, he had spotted his locker. Quickly he tried the combination.

Nothing happened. Marty frowned and tried again...twice...thrice. No matter what he did, the locker simply would not open. Overwhelmed by anger and frustration, he slammed on the stubborn metal door with his fist. The noise echoed about the empty hallways.

Suddenly a hand with the grip of a vice grabbed Marty by the shoulder and wheeled around. Marty found himself face to face with a man with the head of a cue-ball and the gaze of an angry bear. "What do you think you're doing?" demanded the newcomer.

Marty's mouth flapped in protest. "I..."

"Speak up!" barked the bald man. "You got about five seconds to explain why you're not in class before I give you a tardy slip."

Geez, what a grouch1 Marty tried to put up a bold front and defend himself, but the man's scowl was withering. "Uh...I was just...trying to find...my class," he stuttered, forcing an innocent smile.

The man's grip on Marty's shoulder loosened somewhat. "Oh. New kid, huh? Didn't you get that information in Orientation?"

"Yeah, but I've never been here before," protested Marty, gaining courage. "I don't know where Room 13 is."

"If you felt qualified, you might try looking across the hall," said the man sarcastically. He pointed to a little sign above the door across the hallway. Room 13. "What's your name?"

Marty could only feel stupid for a minute before he had to spit out his name. "Marty McFly. Thanks." He forced a sheepish smile and started across the hall. He was stopped by the bald man.

Man in question gave a knowing, unkind smile. "McFly, huh? I might have known it. You're just like your father."

That was not what Marty wanted to hear. He sighed and stared at the door, where his teacher was undoubtedly calling roll. "I really need to go to class, sir."

Cue-Ball lifted his hand from Marty's shoulder and gave a dismissive shrug. "Go on. Get out of here. Slacker," he added under his breath.

_Slacker? Oh, come on!_ Marty stopped mid-stride and turned around, bristling. "Slacker?" he echoed in protest.

"Git!" ordered the man in a voice that offered no pity.

Marty shrank back and scurried into the room, hustling to find an empty desk. The only one left was right by the back left corner. His teacher, a middle-aged woman with glasses, peered at him as she called out names. "Martin, Beverly."

A brown-haired girl raised her hand. "Here."

"McFly, Martin," continued the teacher.

"Uh...here," called Marty as he sat down.

"Hmm..." The English teacher eyed him for a minute over her glasses. "Nice of you to join us, Mr. McFly."

"Sorry. I got lost," he explained.

"Well, hopefully in the future you'll be more punctual."

"Yes, ma'am."

The remainder of Marty's day was just as frustrating. While he'd been rejoicing in the fact that his long-time tormentor Mike Thomas had moved away, it did not take long for a new one to pop up. Due to his small size he was the new butt of jokes among the senior jocks, with their combed-back hair and red and white Letterman jackets. Marty dreaded gym class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He also discovered that the cue-ball man with the hard stare was the Principal, known simply as Strickland. Marty would go on to learn the bald man seemed to have it in for him. He always seemed to be around just when Marty made a mistake, and often was over the next few months.

Not all of high school was bad, though. One of the 'cool' kids seemed to have taken somewhat of a liking to him. His name was Robert Needles, but he simply went by his last name. He seemed pretty tough, what with his fingerless gloves and mohawk. He wouldn't pay much attention to Marty except to invite him to sit by his group at lunch or bark at anyone who laughed at him. One couldn't really call him a friend, but even that was better than nothing. He did seem rather eager for Marty to try all sorts of things out, though, and was always tossing dares in his direction. So far they had been rather harmless, like leaving a stink bomb in the boy's bathroom.

The other good thing about high school was music class. The teacher was impressed with Marty's skill on the guitar and encouraged him to join a band. Through this Marty was able to connect with fellow musicians.

These high school escapades were reported to Doc Brown every weekend, who proved to be a good listener. The old scientist had already become a good friend, as had the dog Einstein. Often 'Doc' would hear about something before Marty's parents would. They hardly ever listened to him, anyway.


	10. Keys

**A/N: PATIENCE! Life has been insane lately and I just started college classes again. :/ The good news is, there's another chapter for you to enjoy. The bad news is, I have no idea when I can post the last- and final! -chapter. Please excuse my lack of knowledge about cars...I never learned to drive myself!**

**Friday, May 25, 1984. 4:49 PM.  
McFly Family Residence**

"Dad?" asked Marty as he walked in through the front door and dropped his backpack on the floor in the living room.

George sat at the kitchen table with a stack of notes and an ancient typewriter in front of him. His brand new black reading glasses kept sliding near the end of his nose as he bent over his work, and he pushed them up. The man didn't even look up at his son as he typed. "Yeah, son?"

Marty hesitated, eyeing the large pile of work George had in front of him. His heart began to sink, but he was determined to state his case. "Remember...how we talked about the permit?"

The middle-aged man squinted, still staring at the typewriter. "What permit?"

Marty's stomach began to twist, but he fought it down. "The learner's permit, remember? I got it last month...?" Like everyone else in his grade, Marty had taken Driver's Education. He had passed the written exam with flying colors and now was the proud owner of a learners' permit...but had yet to sit behind the wheel. His father had been overwhelmed with unpaid overtime by his new supervisor and so was left with little time to call his own.

George frowned as the typewriter went 'ding!' and pushed it back to the other side. "Oh. Right. What about it?"

_Again? You gotta be kidding me!_ Marty's shoulders fell. "You promised to teach me to drive...?"

The bespectacled man flinched and finally turned around. "I did?" Seeing the crestfallen look on Marty's face, he cringed. "Oh! Right! I'm sorry, son. I guess I just forgot." He turned back to his work. "When would you want to go?"

"Oh, uh...any time." Marty forced a hopeful smile and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Would you have time tonight?"

"No...sorry. There's still a lot of work to be done, and if it isn't handed in..." George shrugged. "How, uh...how about next week?"

"That's what you said last week...and the week before, and the week before that." Marty's face twisted with the strain in trying to fight back his anger and disappointment.

"I know, son. I'm sorry."

Marty turned away and ran a hand through his thick brown hair. He'd heard his father apologize countless times...but nothing ever changed. Nothing ever would change, either. At this rate, Marty would be stuck taking the city bus like his older brother, working at a dead-end job. "C'mon, Dad. You promised."

George looked over his shoulder, face etched with sympathy and strain. "I know...next week for sure. OK?"

Marty's face twisted in disappointment and he backed up, eyes stinging. "Yeah...right..." With that, the young man wheeled around, picked up his backpack, and stormed out the door, slamming it as he went. His skateboard was put down, and he rode off, not even sure where he was going.

It was almost force of habit that sent him toward John F. Kennedy Drive.

Dr. Brown was in the middle of working on the engine of his large white van when the sound of skateboard wheels caught his ears and made him frown. He knew something was up when he saw his young friend riding up the driveway at four in the afternoon on a Friday. Usually Marty's visits were over the weekend and previously arranged so he could dog-sit Einstein or help with one of the many experiments.

And so, as Dr. Brown emerged from around the opposite side of the van with a crescent wrench, he stopped mid-stride and waited. There was no need to confront Marty. He would talk in his own time.

Marty's eyes were red, as if he'd been crying, but he plastered a smile on his face. "Einstein!"

The dog in question had been sitting quietly next to the van, keeping his master company. His ears pricked and his tail wagged upon seeing the young man.

Marty stepped off his skateboard and knelt so the dog could approach, tail wagging. "Hey, boy. How you doing, huh?" He either couldn't see Dr. Brown or was ignoring him.

The scientist-turned-grease-monkey decided the time was right to say hello. He approached slowly. "Well! Marty, what a pleasant surprise," he began with a slight smile.

Marty glanced up from the dog with his own halfhearted smile. "Hey, Doc."

"I must say, I wasn't expecting company," said Dr. Brown cautiously. "So, what brings you out here on a Friday afternoon?"

Marty shrugged, but didn't answer. Clearly he wasn't in the mood for talking.

Dr. Brown was never one to push, so he let it go. He took the wrench and slid back under the van, which was jacked up about eighteen inches off the driveway, and began working a nut lose.

Marty, ever the curious teenager, rose and walked over to where Dr. Brown's stained coveralls stuck out from under the van from the waist down. "Making a new engine?"

Dr. Brown scoffed at the suggestion as he strained with the bolt. "Hardly."

"Fixing the transmission?"

"No."

"Making the engine run better?"

"No." Dr. Brown nearly laughed at the teenager's ideas of what a scientist was doing under a van. "I'm changing the oil."

Marty took a step back. He had not expected the wacky inventor to be doing something so ordinary. "Oh." He bent over at the waist and peered under the van. "Need any help?"

The scientist's mouth quirked sideways in a slight smile. He could change the oil of the van in his sleep, but it wouldn't hurt to give the youth something to do...something to take his mind off whatever was bothering him. "Indeed, I do. Could you retrieve that circular petroleum containment device?"

Marty frowned for a second, then grinned, remembering Doc's penchant for big words. He saw a shallow red bowl sitting nearby and picked it up. "You mean this?"

Dr. Brown nodded. "Thank you." He grabbed the pan and set it under the drain before loosening the plug and pulling it out. Dark motor oil spilled out and landed in the catch pan. "I suppose you should learning this sort of thing anyway. You must be about ready to take Driver's Education, correct?"

The sullen look returned to Marty's face. He nodded. "Yeah. Just got my learner's permit."

"So, how do you like driving?"

"I wouldn't know. Haven't sat behind the wheel yet."

The sour comment made Dr. Brown poke his head out from under the car. "Isn't behind-the-wheel instruction required?"

Marty, who had been leaning against the van, scowled. "Yeah. And at the rate I'm going, I'll never get in the hours I need to get my d-ed license!" He hit the van with his palm, making a loud 'bang'.

Dr. Brown edged out from under the car and rose to his feet, eyeing the young man with caution. "Calm down, Marty. It isn't the end of the world if your instruction is delayed."

Marty pushed back from the car and began to pace. "I know, Doc, but..." he sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and spun around to face the scientist. "See, my dad promised to teach me how to drive, but he keeps putting it off. It's been a month, and I'm..." he shrugged, hesitant to speak his fears.

The wild-haired scientist wiped his greasy hand on a shop rag. He didn't pry. He just stood and waited, having learned long ago that patience was the best way to deal with Marty's outbursts.

After a long while Marty looked up, hands shoved into his pockets. "My older brother never got his license 'cause Dad kept saying the same thing to him. After six months, he gave up and started taking the bus, Now it looks like the same thing's gonna happen to me."

Ah, now it made sense. Dr. Brown nodded slowly in understanding. "I see. Well then, you're simply going to have to learn how to drive."

"How? I can't go to driving school alone since I'm a minor."

"I'm certain a solution will present itself. Now, let's see if we can finish changing the oil."

With the help of Marty's skateboard, the oil in the van was soon changed. The two of them ended the job with smears of oil up to their elbows, but it was nothing that a good washing with warm water and dish soap couldn't fix. Later, Dr. Brown wanted to run a couple of errands and invited Marty to come along. Rather than take the van, the scientist selected his classic cream-colored Packard convertible.

Rather than get in on the driver's side, Dr. Brown fished his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Marty. Marty fumbled and caught them, eyes wide with surprise. "Uh...Doc?"

Dr. Brown regarded Marty with wide eyes. "I thought you wanted to learn how to operate a motor vehicle."

"Yeah, but-"

"What's the matter, not fancy enough for you ?"

"No...I mean, it's not that, it's..." Marty pushed back the hope that rose within him. "Are you sure? Putting a teenager behind the wheel of a classic?"

"I trust you, Marty. Besides, if we crash, you know I'll make you work it off." Dr. Brown broke into a brief smile, then began motioning with his hands. "Well, go on! Get in!"

Marty broke into a wide grin and eagerly hopped into the classic car. After checking his rear-view mirrors, he turned to his friend. "Hey, Doc?"

Dr. Brown looked at Marty. "Yes, Marty?"

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet. We haven't left the driveway."


	11. Jennifer

**Monday, January 7, 1985. 7:58 AM  
Hill Valley High School**

The hall was noisy, filled with grouchy, bleary-eyed teenagers aged fourteen to eighteen. It was the first day back after Winter Break, and most wished that the school year had ended already...but it was only half over.

Only about a dozen and a half of the lot were actually happy to be back. Some had left sweethearts over Christmas. Some were looking forward to more Honors Calculus and Astronomy. Some simply preferred to be among their friends than at home.

Marty fell into the latter category. That Christmas had been the worst yet. Sam Baines, his maternal grandfather, died the weekend of Thanksgiving of a heart attack. Marty had never been particularly close to his grandfather. Neither had anyone else, even Lorraine. But such a fact seemed to make Lorraine take the loss all the worse. She drank more than ever...by New Years', Marty had forgotten what his mother was like sober. Alcohol had gone from a comfort to a crutch. She couldn't function without it...or so she seemed to believe. George had reacted to the situation with momentary sorrow and even a try at getting Lorraine to stop drinking...but he gave up in only a month and saw it as the new normal. He and Lorraine began drifting farther and farther apart. Family dinners were silent and painful.

It wasn't that Marty disliked his parents. He had occasionally tried to help them; leaving notes to his mother about Alcoholics Anonymous, giving his father pointers on how to stand up for himself...but none of it did any good. Marty spent more time than ever with Dr. Brown and his band buddies.

At the moment, the sixteen year old young man was standing by the bank of lockers. he had just pulled out his Biology textbook and shut the door when he noticed the perpetually empty locker beside his was no longer empty. A girl was standing there...a very pretty girl. Her hair was somewhere between light brown and strawberry blonde, her eyes pale brown. She was petite, standing about three inches shorter than Marty, and had a slim but feminine figure. She had an armload of books and was trying unsuccessfully to open her stubborn locker.

Marty found himself struck dumb. What luck, to have a gorgeous girl assigned a locker right next to his! But then, why should such a pretty girl take notice of him? No one else ever had. Marty was about to turn around and leave when the girl let out a frustrated sigh...she was near tears. Quickly the young man reached from behind the girl and gave the locker a little knock. Instantly it popped open.

The girl jumped and gave a little gasp, then realized the young man had opened her locker for her. "Oh! Thank you." A shy smile graced her pretty features.

Marty had no choice but to smile back. He shrugged. "Ah...it's OK. These lockers are pretty old. I don't think anyone's had that one in ages."

The girl's smile widened and she turned aside to shove the majority of her textbooks into her locker. Only the Biology book and her notebook remained. Her smile faded and she looked around helplessly. "Um...I hate to ask, but do you know where Room 71 is?"

Marty's eyebrows shot up and his smile widened. "Biology 101? Miss Avery?"

The young lady nodded eagerly, then tilted her head to the side. "Yeah, how did you know?"

"I got the same class. It's this way." Marty broke into a grin and nodded his head. He took a few steps, then hesitated. "Uh...you mind if I walk with you?"

That brilliant smile returned. "No."

Marty couldn't stop smiling as he walked next to the pretty girl. He noticed the glances she kept throwing his way and could hardly believe his luck. Here he was, walking with a beautiful girl. They were in the same class, with lockers right next to each other! Whether this would last or not, Marty had already made up his mind to enjoy it.

Marty's luck remained and seemed to increase throughout the day. He couldn't keep his eyes off the new girl and found himself staring. She, in turn, didn't seem to mind. They kept running into each other throughout the rest of the day and ended up sitting next to each other at lunch. The girl had been sitting alone, so Marty stealthily walked up to her, tray full of lunch.

"Hey," he greeted.

The girl looked up from her lunch in surprise. "Hey."

"Is this seat taken?" He flashed what he hoped was a charming grin.

"No." Another smile began rising on her face.

Marty slid next to her and set down his tray. Both made faces at the disgusting-looking lunch. "Doesn't look too good, huh?"

Wordlessly the girl shook her head. The only thing she had touched thus far was a soggy tater tot.

The young man raised his eyebrows comically. "You wanna trade?" He indicated his own equally disgusting lunch.

A sweet laugh rose from the girl, and she finally got a good look at Marty's face. He was not handsome in the traditional sense, but had a quirky grin and cute, boyish eyes...and his eyes were blue, matching his denim jacket. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were following me."

The young man flinched and put on a look of mock-innocence. "Who, me? Nah!"

"Uh-huh." The girl rested her chin on her hand, eyes sparkling with humor.

"Why? Am I bugging you?"

"No." The bright smile remained where it was.

Marty's mischievous grin returned, and suddenly he was hard-pressed to keep from staring at the girl. They ended up talking for a long while, barely touching their lunch, and Marty offered to walk the girl to her next class, which he did. The fact that he was late to English class was besides the point.

When classes had ended for the day, Marty actively went looking for the new girl. For some reason he felt compelled to see her. He wanted to learn about where she had come from, what her name was...and if she was single or not.

He turned the corner before the lockers and saw her...surrounded by half of the football team. Her soft tresses and smoky eyes had not gone unnoticed after all. Hank, the tallest one in school, was leaning against the lockers, trying to be smooth and coaxed on by his buddies.

The girl did not look happy at this attention. She kept trying to leave, and asking the group to leave her alone but the football players were preventing it. Her expression grew more and more agitated, until one of the football players dropped in behind and tried to kiss her. She pushed him away and was grabbed roughly in return.

Marty scowled. He had been bullied by those same upperclassmen and knew they were trouble. He couldn't stand to see someone else suffer the same fate...especially a girl. Gathering his courage, he marched up to the scene. "Hey! Leave her alone, Hank."

Hank turned around and smirked. "What's it to you, McFly?"

Marty had to scramble to think of a reason to be defending this girl, who he hardly knew. "C'mon. Can't you see she doesn't want you around?"

Hank and his football buddies snickered. "Oh yeah? And how do you know?"

Now it was Marty's turn to scoff. "What are you, deaf and stupid? She said to leave her alone. Now get lost." His tone was commanding.

Hank's face hardened. "No girl says no to me...and no Irish runt tells me what to do."

"Yeah, well guess what? One just did." Marty turned to the girl and tried to usher her aside. "Let's go."

What happened next caught Marty, the girl, and half the hallway off guard. Hank suddenly grabbed Marty by the collar and wheeled him around, intending to hit him. Marty used his small size to his advantage and ducked, then came around with a punch of his own. It landed square on Hank's jaw, making the taller boy stagger. Hank was further angered and like a raging bull, dove for the little attacker. His fist connected with Marty's eye before a loud shout echoed through the hallway.

"Enough!" The commotion abruptly stopped and everyone turned to see Principal Strickland standing there with his eyes flashing and his arms crossed. "Who started this?"

There was no answer.

Strickland uncrossed his arms and stared in turn at both young men. "Both of you. My office. Now!"

Both scowling young men followed behind the principal. Only Marty glanced over his shoulder to be sure that the new girl had gotten away. His anger eased somewhat in seeing that she had.

Principal Strickland lectured both young men for a full half hour, called their parents, and then sent them to the nurses' office. Hank was embarrassed at having a boy shorter than he confront him, so he left immediately. Marty took the ice that the nurse gave him and then made his way outside. Who knew what his parents would say when they saw his second black eye?

Marty was very surprised to hear a feminine voice calling to him at the school steps as he exited. He turned around to see the new girl standing there, books in hand. "Now who's following who?" he joked.

The girl's smile was strained. "I just wanted to see if you were OK...and to say thank you."

"I'm fine. I just wanted to make sure_ you _were OK." Marty frowned. "You gotta watch out for that Hank guy. He's trouble."

"So I noticed." The girl cringed. "But anyway, thank you. I told him to leave me alone, but he just wouldn't listen."

"He doesn't listen to anyone. Least of all girls...no offense," he added. "That jerk is a total chauvinist."

The girl nodded in agreement. A long, awkward silence followed.

It was broken by the honk of a brown car. An unhappy middle-aged man sat at the driver's seat. The girl sighed and turned briefly to Marty. "I got to go. See ya!" And she took off at a fast walk.

"Hey! What's your name?" hollered Marty.

"Jennifer!" hollered the girl. "What's yours?"

"Marty!"

"Bye, Marty!" Jennifer gave another brief smile and then was into the car.

Marty found himself staring at the car long after it had left. During that time he hardly noticed the pain in his eye and could only think of Jennifer and her pretty smile.

**A/N: I must apologize for the lack of quality on this chapter. It is NOT my best work. :/ But I really don't have time to spend polishing Fan Fiction chapters with college in full swing. Maybe during Spring Break I can come back and make the story better...but until then, this is all she wrote. Literally. **


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